


i'll be close behind

by dicaeopolis



Series: MY ONE PERSON CRUSADE TO PROVIDE TMA FANS WITH NICE THINGS AGAINST ALL EFFORTS OF CANON [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Jonathan Sims, caretaking kink without the kink, set somewhere vaguely season 2? before it all really goes to shit, statement format for half the first chapter, the best way i can describe this fic is 'really intense nonsexual intimacy'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, concerning the strange recent behavior of one Martin Blackwood.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: MY ONE PERSON CRUSADE TO PROVIDE TMA FANS WITH NICE THINGS AGAINST ALL EFFORTS OF CANON [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573123
Comments: 168
Kudos: 1317
Collections: Rusty Kink





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had started this as just some meaningless sloppy makeouts and then i saw [this prompt](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=87140#cmt87140) and then i blacked the fuck out and here we are. Anyway
> 
> unbeta'ed bc betsy isn't into tma yet. im working on it
> 
> the title is from I Will Follow You Into The Dark because i love to feel pain !

[CLICK]

JON: Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London, on the strange behavior of one Martin Blackwood, archival assistant. Statement taken direct from subject.

Statement begins.

Martin has been behaving… Oddly.

He  _ has _ always had a habit of fluttering about me like an anxious butterfly, but recently it's much more like  _ hovering. _ He often brings me tea, which is nice of him, but lately he keeps dragging me out of my office to eat and fussing over me until I go home in the evenings and that sort of thing. Honestly, I'd interpret it as blatant romantic interest if it weren't  _ Martin. _ He's just so damn nice.

I haven't written off supernatural influence, of course, but… Much as it frankly surprises me, I can't really bring myself to believe that  _ none _ of us would've picked up on it. It's nothing to do with the Stranger, I've checked the tapes, and for all my, ah, paranoia, I do think that, at this point, I know -  _ we _ know enough to spot that sort of thing. Also, Melanie rolled her eyes quite loudly when I mentioned it offhand, which indicates that I've missed something more… Mundane.

[JON pauses.]

JON: [abruptly, rather angrily] What  _ doesn't track _ for me is that he doesn't ever ask me about, you know, personal things. If he's gotten it into his head to - to [faintly befuddled] "take care of" me, then one would think he'd-

[JON huffs.]

JON: The problem with Martin is that he is entirely too polite to ask about my, ah, sex life. Which doesn't exist! I've never felt more than a polite disinterest in the whole topic.

It's just that - if he  _ were _ to ask, I could explain that I'm asexual, and, again, if Martin were less  _ polite, _ he'd ask about how that works with relationships, and I could tell him that I very much do get romantic feelings and enjoy physical contact in all its nonsexual manifestations, and then, er, well-

Uh-

Well, then he'd know.

[JON coughs.]

JON: Anyway. The issue at  _ hand _ is that Martin is acting oddly and I  _ cannot _ figure out why. He's started trying to  _ mother _ me, and yet he still seems too nervous to so much as ask how my weekend was. He can't be that intimidated, I mean, it's just me, I talk to him more than any-

[lower, more urgent] It sits strangely with me. I can't figure out why, but if there's one thing I've learned here, it's that if something slightly amiss won't get itself out of my head, I  _ must _ pay attention to it. A new boyfriend? Issues at home? But why would he be spending  _ more _ time here? All I can do is talk myself in circles.

I contacted Georgie for her interpretation of his behavior. She, ah, instructed me to never send her a text so long ever again, and then stopped responding. I can hardly ask anyone at the Institute for their views, which leaves me at somewhat of an impasse, as Martin's attitude befuddles me entirely.

[A door opens.]

MARTIN: Hey, it's getting late, you know-

JON: Oh, it's you. Sit.

MARTIN: Pardon?

JON: I need to ask you about something.

MARTIN: I - okay?

[A chair scrapes across the floor. A pause.]

MARTIN: …I didn't break the coffee machine, alright? I don't even drink coffee, I wouldn't know how to break it in the first place and I've no idea who does, you could ask Sasha but she's probably  _ least _ likely to-

JON: The coffee machine is broken?

MARTIN: F-for about a week, yes - what did you-?

JON: Do you date?

MARTIN: [with a squeak]  _ Sorry?! _

JON: I didn't stutter, did I?

MARTIN: I - no, I'm - No.

JON: Why not?

MARTIN:  _ Scuseme? _

JON: Why aren't you dating anyone?

MARTIN: Well - I mean - I'm me.

JON: Expand on that.

MARTIN: [voice growing higher] I -  _ why? _

JON: It doesn't make sense. You're excruciatingly kind, you have your flat back now, there are plenty of gay and bi men around London, you're obviously attractive-

[MARTIN chokes and starts coughing.]

JON: -so why do you spend so much time late at the Archives?

[MARTIN attempts a sentence a few times, and fails.]

JON: [impatient] We've not got all evening, you know.

MARTIN: Well - I mean-

JON:  _ Martin. _

MARTIN: [helplessly] Isn't it  _ obvious? _

JON: It is not.

[MARTIN sighs deeply.]

MARTIN: Well, then, why don't  _ you? _ Date, I mean.

JON: You don't  _ know _ that I don't.

MARTIN: Jon, I'm here whenever you are.

JON: …Fair point. [pauses] I suppose this is a good time as any to bring it up.

MARTIN: Bring…?

JON: I'm, ah, asexual. Which isn't to say that I don't fall in love or crave physical touch, just that I'm not interested in sex, and the nature of passing encounters is such that I far prefer long-term relationships, which I've managed in the past, but now, well - I'm always here.

MARTIN: Oh.

JON: [hesitates] Er - now it's your turn.

MARTIN: I - I - I - I-

JON: Why aren't you dating anyone, Martin? It'd - it'd be good for you.

MARTIN: [high-pitched] I have to  _ go. _

[The door slams.]

JON: …Damn.

[beat]

JON: That may not have come across as I-

[The door opens.]

MARTIN: Sorry - are you  _ worried _ about me?

JON: Did I not make that clear?

[MARTIN groans. The door slams again.]

[The door opens.]

MARTIN: You think I'm  _ attractive? _

JON: [dry] I am in possession of working eyes, Martin.

[MARTIN shrieks softly. The door shuts. A moment later, it opens again.]

JON: …Yes? [A pause.] You're smiling.

MARTIN: Oh, I just - well, you know.

JON: I can assure you I do not -  _ come back here! _

[The door shuts, then reopens immediately. The chair squeaks.]

MARTIN: [very softly] Jon. The time I could be spending on dates, I spend here, alright?

JON: Yes, Martin; as I've stated, I don't know  _ why. _ It can't be out of love for the work - er, no offense. I mean only that you don't seem to suffer the same fanaticism that's affected me since Prentiss.

MARTIN: You're right. But I'm still here, aren't I? Making you tea at all hours, forcing you to go home once it's past eight, things like that?

[There is a pregnant pause. It is broken by Jon bursting out, all at once:]

JON: Why don't you ever touch me?

MARTIN: I - excuse me?

JON: Not that anyone else here does either, but you - you seem to feel some  _ duty _ to hover over me, and I've seen you casually touch Tim and Sasha, but it's never me -  _ why? _

MARTIN: Do you - do you  _ want _ me to?

JON:  _ Yes! _

MARTIN: [breathy, reverent] Oh.

JON: [unsure] …Martin?

MARTIN: Would you please turn off the tape recorder?

JON: Ah - right, I'll just - er, Statement Ends.

[MARTIN's groan of laughter is cut off by a CLICK.]

Jon is no less confused than he was twenty minutes ago, albeit significantly more embarrassed.

Martin, on the other hand, is beaming. He's on the other side of the desk, but, somehow, Jon still feels vulnerable. He is acutely aware that they're the only two employees here so late, that he'd loosened his tie and popped a few buttons expecting to be alone, that Martin seems to know something he does not.

Martin says, "Give me your hand."

It's astounding, really. The anxious assistant Jon's had for a year now, upon being told Jon needs something? Not a stutter to be heard.

Jon gives him his hand. Martin takes it in both his. His touch is light, careful. He strokes Jon's palm, and Jon inhales audibly. He cradles Jon's hand and smooths his index finger up to the pulse point in his wrist. Jon's heart trembles four beats against the pad of his finger before Martin brushes over the tendons on the underside of his wrist.

Jon isn't blinking. He thinks he may not be breathing.

"You want me to touch you," Martin whispers, almost to himself.

"Not  _ sexually, _ I just-"

Martin pulls him a little closer to grasp his forearm, and smooths his thumb over the crook of Jon's elbow.

Jon will, given any choice, deny the noise he makes.

_ "Wow," _ Martin breathes.

"Do it more," Jon snaps.

"Right, yeah, okay, sorry-"

"Do  _ not _ apologize," Jonathan growls. He feels kind of floaty.

Martin takes his other arm, plays with his hands for a while. Jon would think to be embarrassed if his head weren't so  _ fuzzy _ at the edges. The incandescents in his office are casting Martin in golden warmth, and even when he's got both hands on Jon's, he's staring directly into Jon's eyes. Jon meets his gaze, and then glances away - back - away again. His breathing has, at some point, become audible.

"You  _ do _ want this," Martin whispers, with that same wondering smile.

_ "Clearly," _ Jon manages to bite out, far breathier than intended.

"Yeah?" Martin lets go of his hand, which is fairly awful, but forgivable given how quickly he moves to cup Jon's cheek. Jon can't  _ help _ but lean into it, with a small noise of  _ need. _

"Martin," he whispers.

Martin's thumb presses along his cheekbone. He lifts his other hand, Jon's hazy eyes following the motion, and rests it gently on the side of Jon's neck. Not grasping, just stroking up the tendons there and then along the underside of his jaw, practically petting him. Jon's head tips back, involuntary. His eyelids flutter, and Martin sucks in a sharp breath.

Through his fog, it occurs to him to ask if Martin is just doing this because he feels like he has to.

"Jon," says Martin, sounding kind of like he's choking, "I want to do very little other than this for the foreseeable future."

"I still don't understand - hnn -  _ why-" _

"For goodness' sake, Jon," Martin says, amusement softening the exasperation, and kisses him.

Jon goes completely still.

When Martin draws back, Jon catches hold of his arms, keeping him from moving more than a few inches away. With the minimal degree of contact, he regains some faculty, and stares into Martin's eyes, searching.

That gentle wonder begins to fade into anxiety. "I - sorry."

"For what?" Jon says, and continues without waiting for an answer. "You have feelings for me."

"Er - I mean, if it's not okay-"

_ "That's _ why you're always hovering around me." Martin's arms twitch, like he'd cover his face if he could, but Jon holds fast. "You don't date because you want to be dating  _ me." _

Martin actually  _ whines. _ He's lighter-skinned than Jon, light enough that Jon can see his deep blush. Fascinating. "I - look, I promise I won't make it weird, alright, I know you're my boss and all, we can just pretend I never-"

"I think," Jon says slowly, "I might…care for you, too. Romantically."

Martin burbles a little. Jon examines him closer, thoughts whirring. "Hmm…yes, I think you're cute when you're flustered."

"I - I - I - I'm  _ always _ flustered!"

_ "Exactly!" _ Jon agrees, gaining steam. "It explains  _ everything. _ Tim and Sasha don't touch me and it's never bothered me, why else would I crave touch so much from you specifically? And what's more, there's not  _ anybody _ else that I'd tolerate spending so many twelve-hour days with, let alone do that and  _ still _ wish I could see you on weekends. Yes, it all makes  _ sense. _ I've been so  _ distracted _ by how nice you smell and I couldn't figure out  _ why, _ I sometimes lose focus on my  _ work _ when you're around, I even look forward to you bothering me about trivial nonsense like eating or sleep schedules. That's it," he finishes triumphantly. "I have a crush on you."

Martin is  _ laughing. _ Jon… Can't actually remember ever making him laugh before, not outright like this instead of nervous and shaky. It feels nice -  _ yet more evidence. _ He shares this with Martin, who laughs harder.

"You've just - Archivist-ed your way through a love confession," Martin manages.

Jon frowns at him. "Well, it makes  _ sense." _

Martin snorts. This is adorable as well, so Jon, confident enough in his conclusions to act on them, kisses him again. And again, and again, and somewhere in there he realizes that he's smiling.

They leave the Institute late. Martin starts to look nervous again as soon as they're on the streets, so Jon orders him to hold his hand as they walk to the Tube station, and Martin looks like he's walking a foot above the pavement the whole way there.

Jon does most of the talking. It's the first time he's really seen Martin calm enough to not ramble, and Jon himself is feeling rather expansive. He quiets on the platform, though, when Martin cups his face in both hands and kisses him slow, languid, like they've got all the time in the world.

They don't, of course. Martin's train comes after only a few minutes. Jon breaks contact with him reluctantly.

"I'll be wanting more of that," he says by way of a goodbye.

Martin grins at him, sudden and brilliant. And then he steps onto the train and is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Kissing Jonathan Sims is quickly becoming one of Martin's favorite ways to spend time.

Which isn't to say that that's surprising. Martin has spent a lot of time thinking about kissing Jonathan Sims before it actually started happening. Probably too much time. Definitely too much time. Jonathan would probably tell him off for it, he thinks idly. Fortunately, Martin is now allowed to enjoy the tone of Jonathan's voice when he tells him off, so he mumbles against Jon's lips, "I've wasted so many hours at the Archive daydreaming about this."

Jon begins to say something clipped and probably moderately scathing, which, excellent. Martin doesn't let him finish, though - too giddy. He kisses Jon again, but it's clumsy through his big dopey smile. Jon draws back a bit and flicks Martin's nose. He's frowning, but Jon's frowns lost their bite a long time ago. These days, Martin doesn't miss the softness in his eyes.

Softness directed at  _ him. _ Martin grins wider and bumps his forehead against Jon's.

_ "Really," _ Jonathan says. If Martin didn't know his voice so well, he'd miss the breathlessness. "No self-control whatsoever."

"That's cause it's  _ you." _

"You never have self-control," Jon huffs. Martin honest-to-God  _ giggles. _ He's right, but so was Martin. Jon dissolves him like cotton candy into sugar water. He's nearly thirty, for crying out loud, and here he is silly as a damn teenager. He kisses Jon again.

_ Excellent. _

This is the first time Jon's been to his place, actually. It'd still been light out when they first made it onto this couch, and now the evening has settled over them like gentle, dark fleece. There's some streetlamps through the blinds, enough to cast Jon's face in contrasts. He is beautiful, utterly. Scars, salt-and-pepper dreads, face too lined for his youth. Eyes half-lidded but intense.

Back to his original point. Martin would be pretty alright spending about 75% of his waking hours kissing Jon. It's just that he  _ has _ spent quite a long time mooning after his boss, with attraction turning to butterflies turning to genuine care turning to - well, a word that would probably give Jon a heart attack right here on Martin's sofa if Martin dropped it on him so soon - and now they've gone on enough dates and stolen enough kisses in back rooms of the Institute and gotten far enough past the point where Martin goes  _ completely _ flushed when Jon takes his hand that, well-

What he's trying to say is, Martin is very gradually coming to believe that this is not all some fever dream, and that, therefore, Jon is actually into him.

It still sounds ridiculous in his head. He kisses Jon slowly anyway, savoring it.

It sure doesn't hurt that Jon responds to his touch like a bow on fiddle strings. Kind of hard to convince yourself this is all a big joke when Martin gently nips Jon's lower lip and feels the shiver all the way down his body.

He wouldn't have thought in a million years that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist would like messy, open-mouthed kisses, but when Martin tentatively tries some tongue, Jon settles down against him with a quiet, pleased sigh. No hesitation, no attempts to hide it. Just Martin with a lapful of soft, pliant Archivist on his living room sofa. If he thinks about it for too long, he starts feeling dizzy. For all his patience with Jon - for all the time he's spent coaxing and easing Jon's feelings out of the briar patch he calls a heart - when it comes to touch, Jon melts for him.

Martin has written a lot of very bad poetry about this sort of thing.

He breaks away from Jon's lips to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, then down his neck, pulling Jon's dreads aside to mouth softly at his pulse point. Jon makes some very nice noises at that, so Martin keeps doing it, little nips and kisses all over his neck and down to his collarbone and what parts of his shoulders Martin can get to by pulling aside the collar of Jon's sweater. The sweater in question is soft charcoal-gray wool, nearly as dark as Jon's skin, and Jonathan sometimes pushes up the sleeves to his elbows, which usually renders Martin fairly useless for the rest of the day.

When Martin finishes with Jon's neck - well, it doesn't do bad things for his ego, seeing that hazy, open bliss.

"Hey," he says, with a sudden idea.

Jon blinks down at him. "Hm?" His brow furrows a little as Martin shifts out from under him, and he makes to move too. But Martin puts a hand on his shoulder, and, with minimal jostling, settles down straddling Jon's lower back.

"Martin?" Jon turns his head as best as he can, which isn't much. "What are you doing, exactly?"

"I - er, I wanted to-" Before he can second-guess himself more, Martin presses his knuckles into the knots between Jon's angel bones, hard.

Jon groans.  _ Excellent. _

Martin  _ can _ focus, despite how he might sometimes seem at the Institute (which, to be fair, is full of distractions even if your boss  _ isn't _ hotter than hell). He focuses now, kneading and massaging over every inch of Jon's shoulders through that thin wool sweater. He works the stress out of his traps, and Jon's breathing goes audible. He works his fingers over Jon's angel bones and down to the small of his back, and Jon gasps and thaws and softens til he's limp and pliable under Martin's ministrations. And, when Jon has been reduced to a stream of quiet, wordless noises of contentment, Martin drapes himself down over Jon's back and kisses his ears, drawing out goosebumps with gentle teeth and the tip of his tongue, as hs grasps Jon's upper arms and massages out the tension from his delts down to his triceps.

When he's done, he presses one last kiss behind Jon's ear and slings an arm around his waist. Carefully, he turns both of them onto their sides, tucking Jon into his chest. Martin nuzzles into his shoulders, heart fluttering. He kind of feels like he's holding a star.

Jon shifts a little in his arms and twists to catch him in a proper kiss, and, well, Martin sure isn't complaining about more making out. Jon twines his fingers into the fuzz of Martin's afro at the nape of his neck. Martin's chest squeezes.

_ What did I do to deserve you, _ he does not have the courage to say.

"What did I do to deserve you," Jon breathes against his lips.

"Do you want to stay the night," Martin croaks out. Jon puts a finger under his chin and kisses him once, twice, again.

He watches Jon put himself back together as they get ready for bed. The Jon he has seen, Martin knows, is a rare and private thing. But if there's one thing Martin can do with zeal, it's keeping some part of Jon protected from fear and fate and the weight of the otherworld on his shoulders.

So he tucks away the night for safekeeping and the open vulnerability gradually fades from Jon's voice and they go to his bedroom, which somehow feels much less intimate than Martin's dim couch with the streetlights slatting through the blinds. Jon teases him about his Star Wars posters and the Keats taped to his mirror and then helps himself to a t-shirt from Martin's drawer, which is just entirely too much for Martin to handle and then Jon teases him about his flush too and all is as it should be.

On impulse, Martin puts something slow and gentle on his little Bluetooth speaker as they brush their teeth. They don't  _ dance _ per se, Martin doesn't think he's ever seen Jon dance, but there's a rhythm to the way they move around each other, in his cramped little bathroom. Martin catches his hand for a measure, and their breathing falls into rhythm.

Jon does not have a toothbrush with him. Martin watches him frown at the mirror as he squirts some of Martin's toothpaste onto his finger and shoves it into his mouth. Martin does a bad job of hiding his smile.

"Not a word," Jon threatens around the finger.

Martin takes the opportunity to press a kiss to Jon's cheek and then dart out of the bathroom. As he makes his escape, though, there is a smack down below.

Martin  _ squeaks _ and whirls around.  _ "Jonathan?!" _

Jon is biting back a grin. He glances sideways and meets Martin's gape with eyes of pure mischief.

Martin flees to his room and flops down his quilt, grinning at the ceiling.

Jonathan joins him shortly. Martin has time to be nervous again for just a moment before Jon, looming imperious in boxers and Martin's space invaders t-shirt, pushes him down against his own pillows and smatters kisses all over his face and tweaks his sides til he's sputtering with laughter. It's an uncharacteristic degree of affection that Martin gradually recognizes as gratitude.

"Come on, come on, ease off a bit," he manages to wheeze out, batting Jon's hands away. Jon sits back, looking supremely self-satisfied as he stares down his nose at Martin. Which, excellent, but Martin still throws an arm over his face. He is quite sure that he's flushed.

"You look cute," Jonathan decides.

Martin chokes. "I - I - you - I-"

"Articulate as always," Jon drawls, excruciatingly dry. Martin whines at him, incoherent.

He takes mercy long enough for them to both scoot beneath the covers and divide up the pillows. Martin flicks off his lamp, and there is then the issue that Jon is a good foot away from him.

Well - he survived not touching his hot boss for  _ ages _ before this. He shouldn't develop a dependency, right? Martin has the strong suspicion that, if he does not curb himself, he will spend very little of his future not touching Jonathan.

But then again, why deny himself? He could ask. The worst Jonathan could say is no. In the darkness, Martin fidgets.

He is opening his mouth when Jon says in a kind of strangled voice, "Oh, would you just  _ get over here." _

And  _ then _ Martin remembers all over again the blissful fact that  _ Jon _ was the one to come to  _ him _ about touch, and then he's wrapped in Jon's arms, their legs tangled together and Jon's breath warm and tickly on the back of his neck.

And if he wakes up the next morning to Jon clinging to him with all four limbs like an octopus - well, Martin isn't saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on the [big](https://twitter.com/medeawasright/status/1206678820662562816?s=19) [blue](https://dicaeopolis.tumblr.com/post/189707933717) websites i need tma mutuals desperately


End file.
